


Heroes

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chaptered, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't have many heroes in his life, and the few that he does have are fictional. Then one day, a real hero comes into his life - and he's nothing like any other savior Dean has seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

The punch came out of nowhere, connecting with his eye and making him stumble backward. Dean's arms flailed out to the side to try and balance, reaching out for something to grab onto. There was nothing for him to hold on to - that's a pretty good summary of Dean's life. Alone with no one else to help him. Technically, Sam  _could_ help, but Dean didn't let him. Right then, the younger Winchester was at a friend's house, a place he'd been staying more often as time went on. Dean paused as his back connected with the living room wall, thinking about how abnormal it was to spend more time away from home and from your family than _with_ them. He didn't have long to contemplate the thought - before he could come to his senses again, another punch landed on his ribs, breath rushing out of his lungs as he bent forward.

_"Pathetic."_

The word left John Winchester's mouth in a hiss, syllables heavy and filling the room. He lifted his hand, bringing it down with a sharp _smack_ to his own son's face before walking out of the room. Dean slid down the wall, listening to retreating footsteps and the slam of a door. He let his head drop down between his knees, body aching and bruised.  _Dad was just drunk. He's reckless when he's drunk. He doesn't mean it,_ Dean tried to convince himself that there  _must_ have been alcohol in his father's system - but his eyes had been clear, his voice was steady, and his hits were precise. 

_At least Sam isn't here._ Dean rose on shaky feet. Hobbling to the back bathroom that he shared with his brother, he found the first aid kit stashed beneath the sink. The contents of the box were dwindling; just half a bottle of disinfectant, a few band aids, and some needle and thread for the occasional cut from a beer bottle. Dean wadded up a bit of toilet paper, soaking it in the disinfectant and dabbing it over his split lip. He made a mental note to get ice in the morning for the bruising and to cover up the black eye he would have. Sure, it was a little embarrassing getting makeup during grocery runs, but how else was he supposed to hide the reminders of home from the rest of the world?

After patching up the few cuts on his face from John's wedding ring, he replaced the kit and stripped out of his clothes. They were sweaty and there was a little blood on the collar of his shirt, but Dean knew how to get stains like that out by now. He tugged on a clean t-shirt and a new pair of boxers, setting the alarm so he could shower and pick up Sam early for school the next day. Sammy had been staying at his friend Jess's house - her parents must have trusted him an awful lot to let him spend the night so often. At least once or twice a week, Dean would drive him over and politely ask if it was okay if he stayed. The answer was always yes, and Jess loved having him around. Dean was always glad that no one in the Moore family asked him why he brought his brother over so often - the answer was too grim.

Dean knew John was abusive. He wasn't some idiot that believed that John really loved them or something. No, he knew. But they couldn't leave. Leaving meant abandoning Lawrence and switching schools, and Sam had friends. Sam was  _happy_. Sam was Dean's main priority, and if Sam was happy, he could find a way to be happy, too. Even when home was a living hell and school was like purgatory, Dean knew that he could find a way to stay for Sam. If that meant beatings in both places, so be it. There was light somewhere, and he would find it. 

He was in his last year of high school, and Dean knew he wouldn't get to go to college. He could get a job in the same city, find an apartment, and take in his brother then. He doubted that John would beat Sammy - after all, Sam was always more important. Sam couldn't get hurt. Sam was  _better._ But that didn't mean anything for sure. With John's drinking patterns, he would, without a doubt, get drunk and attack his other son one day. And Dean was  _never_ going to let that day come. 

The bed creaked as he got into it, Dean wincing at the sharp stab of pain in his stomach when he tried to roll over. He turned onto his back, staring at the cracks in the ceiling and the little glowing stars that Sam had insisted on putting up when they moved in. Sam had been ten at the time, and they had found the old stars in a closet when they were unpacking. 

"Dean, look! They're like your eyes!" Sammy's voice had been so soft and sweet when he was little, and Dean could remember the words as if he'd heard them only yesterday.

He had stuck them to the browning ceiling, trying to cover up cracks and make constellations at the same time. He'd just tackled his brother when Dean had tried to take them down - and there they were, eight years later. Still glowing and bright and making Dean smile. 

So little made him smile.

 

***

 

When his alarm went off the next morning, Dean felt like death itself. His throat felt as if it was stuffed with cotton, his body ached in every way, and his eyes burned when he blinked.  _Gotta get Sam,_ was his only motivation in rising out of bed and showering, taking care to rub gently over the sore parts of his stomach and jaw. His eye wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, the swelling minimal and the color mainly purple instead of black. He dabbed some of the makeup around his eye, trying to make it as even as possible with the rest of his skin. He ended up covering part of his cheek, which made it look like he only had freckles on one side of his face, leading him to groan, wash it off, and start over again. 

By the time he was ready to go out into the world, it was seven AM and time to pick up Sam. He crept out the back door, car keys in hand and backpack slung over his shoulder. None of the assigned homework in his bag was completed, but that didn't matter. He wasn't too concerned with grades - at least, not his own. Sam's were important, but even then, Dean didn't have to worry much. The kid was practically a genius.

As Dean started up the Impala, he ran his fingers over the dash and the wheel, admiring the smooth textures of the car and the hum of the engine. The car was the one good thing he'd received from John, and Dean cherished it as much as someone could possibly care about a material object. He pulled out of the driveway, streets of the neighborhood still empty due to the early hour. The Moore house was only about ten minutes away, and school was another twenty minutes from there. Thirty minutes in the one place he felt safe.

Sam was waiting out on the curb when he pulled up, carrying books and binders in his arms. He slipped into the passenger side of the Impala, heaving the massive pile of stuff onto the seat, creating a kind of blockade between the brothers. He sat quietly, staring out the window and not looking at his brother. Dean looked at him for a moment, looking at how much his brother had changed. Longer hair, shaggy and almost falling to his shoulders. His cheeks weren't as chubby as they used to be, and everything about him seemed  _longer._  

_When did he start to change so much?_

"Can we go, Dean?" His voice was impatient.

"Not until you tell me why you're acting like that."

"Acting like _what?"_ Sam turned to him, impatience changing to irritation. "This is how I  _act,_ Dean. It's my personality."

"Sam, you're not like this. I know you better than anyone."

"Really? You still think that?"

Dean felt a chill run down his spine, scooting back in his seat a little bit. "What?"

"I barely see you anymore! You just drop me off at Jess's house. There's so much going on and you don't even  _know._ You're never here, Dean," Sam's voice had turned quiet, face sad. He was too young to look that unhappy. 

Dean swallowed before turning back around to face the windshield, bracing his hands on the steering wheel. "Let's just get to school."

The drive was tense, silence hanging in the air like a storm cloud waiting to break. When Dean pulled into the parking lot, Sam grabbed his things and almost sprinted out of the car, jogging up to the front doors even though they were still early. Dean walked through the hallways slowly, blending into the background and finding his way into homeroom. He didn't talk to anyone in the class except for Gabriel, an obnoxious and tiny creature that everyone seemed to like except for Dean. Gabriel was from the Novak family, esteemed owners of the Cosmic Coffins company. They were a family of morticians, extremely religious and determined to help anyone get to Heaven in style. Due to the morbid nature of their work, all of the Novak kids seemed to have dark or odd personalities; Anna, Michael, Uriel, Raphael, Gabriel, Castiel, and Hannah. Dean had only ever met Gabriel and Anna. The former from homeroom and the latter at a party - both had been extremely intoxicated and stupid things ensued. They parted ways awkwardly in the morning, agreeing to not speak of the event afterward. 

Dean took his usual spot in the back corner, letting his head fall into his arms and allowing his shoulders to slump forward.  _At least I can get five minutes of-_

"WHAT THE HELL?" 

Dean jumped as he felt hands jab at his ribs, launching him forward and banging the bruised part of his stomach on the desk. He could hear Gabriel laughing behind him, several other kids in the class joining in with him. Grimacing, Dean sat back, arms carefully guarding the front of his body. Gabriel sauntered around to the front of his desk, hands flat on the wooden surface. He leaned down, face only a few inches from the other boy's. 

"Leave me the  _fuck_ alone, Gabriel,"  Dean almost spat out the words, anger and pain threatening to make him punch the kid square in his smug face. 

"Wow, touchy! Feelin' tense, pretty boy?" Gabriel pinched Dean's cheek, smirking wider when his hand was slapped away. "Oh, rough! Hey, I have the  _perfect_ man for you, Winchester - guy named _Alastair_ ring a bell?"

Dean hoped that the blush rising in his cheeks wasn't too noticeable. That name brought up far too many bad memories. "Fuck off."

Gabriel raised his hands in surrender, backing away and winking at the Winchester. "See ya 'round, Dean-o. Don't hate me. I just might end up saving your life someday."

Dean sighed, returning to his first position.  _The last thing I want is to get involved with those Novak freaks._

 

***

 

 Sam came home with Dean for the first time in a week. His mood instantly improved, and he even told Dean about what was going on in his life for the first time in months; apparently, he had a massive crush on Jess, but there was another girl named Ruby that also liked him. He was having some trouble in his Biology class because he hated writing lab reports, and he had made a few more friends. He was happy, for the most part. 

"Sam, I'm not gonna lie. I missed seeing your stupid face," Dean grinned from the driver's seat, joyfully alternating between humming the song playing and talking with his brother.

"I missed you too, jerk."

"Bitch."

The two couldn't stop smiling and laughing with each other all the way home, enjoying the nice parts of having a sibling for a little while. Dean felt like it was going to be a good week - it was a Friday, after school, and he already had things planned out, They were gonna see a movie on Saturday, he was going to give Sammy a  _very_ careful driving lesson on Sunday, and then they would have junk food both nights. However, Dean hadn't factored John Winchester into the equation.

The second that the brothers stepped into the house, a beer bottle was hurled. It shattered on the wall down the hallway, bottle coming from the back room. Glass scattered around the hall, green shards glinting from afternoon sun streaming in through the window. Sam ducked, looking to Dean with confused eyes. "What-"

_"DEAN!"_

Another crash.

_"Boy, you come here NOW!"_

A door slam, followed by dragging footsteps. Dean turned to his brother, shoving him back through the door. "Wait in the car. Go,  _go!"_

He ran back out to the car, Dean quickly shutting the door behind him. He looked around the hall for something he could use to defend himself, or just knock his father out with. There was nothing there except for the coat rack in the corner, but he was worried that the hooks could hurt John. Dean took a deep breath as he saw the figure emerge from down the hall, posture slumped and one leg sliding lazily behind him.

"You're a dirty bastard. I can't believe you're my son."

The words were daggers, embedding themselves in Dean's chest and making all the happiness from earlier drip out of him like blood. He breathed in slowly, exhaling softly as John wobbled forward. A trail of curses and slurs followed in his wake, Dean standing still against the door as his father walked to him.

"Don't know what I did wrong. How you came out  _twisted."_

Dean swallowed, tilting his head back against the door and waiting for the assault he knows is coming. 

"Get out. Get out of  _my house."_

The statement is unexpected, and Dean opened his eyes, staring at his father in disbelief. "What?"

_"GET OUT!"_ John threw a punch, connecting with the boy's nose before Dean pushed him back and scrambled out the door, wiping blood from his face and too shocked at the words to realize what they  _meant._

They had no home. 

The first day Sam came back, and they had no home. 

 

***

 

They were sitting in the Roadhouse, wondering what to do.

"I could go back to Jess's. I could ask if you could stay, too."

"Sam, no," Dean ran his fingers through his hair and over his face. He's repeated the actions at least a dozen times, a nervous habit.

"Then what are we gonna do?"

"I'm gonna turn into Han Solo and save everything, of course," Dean replied, too tired to put much sarcasm in his tone.

The truth was, he wished he could do that - be a hero and save everyone. But Dean was no hero. He had heroes, sure - all of them from books or movies. Never in his life had Dean met someone worthy of calling a  _hero._

One of the waitresses walked over to them, blonde hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. Her name tag read "Jo" in pretty letters, the J swooping up and then down, down, down to meet the O. Dean smiled as he ordered their food - two burgers and sodas, simple junk food.  _At least we ended up getting one thing off my list,_ he thought. The two boys spent most of the time in silence, and it wasn't an easy silence, either. It was tired. Not tense - it was exhausted. A kind of weight seemed to have been placed on their shoulders and backs, forcing them to lean over or rest their heads on the table. It was a depressing sight. 

Dean just wanted a break from all the  _shit_ that was going on. He wished that there was someone he could talk to about all of it, or at least just have them listen. He needed someone to lean on - Sam was leaning on him, and Dean couldn't lean back. He couldn't put that kind of force or responsibility on his brother; his little kid brother, barely fourteen years old. 

"I'll be back in a minute,"  Dean stood up from the table, rubbing Sam's shoulder as he passed him on the way to the back hall. There was a glowing neon sign above the hallway entrance, bright blue and reading "Restrooms". Dean walked inside, closing himself in a stall and resting against the back of the door. The place reeked, dirty and covered in weird stains. A cockroach scurried next to his shoe and Dean _tried_ not to yelp. He counted off three minutes on his watch, deciding that he had two more minutes to stay before Sam would get suspicious. When he walked out of the small space, fluorescent lights flickering, Dean could see a familiar figure in the corner. Tall and shadowed, black jacket hanging off one shoulder.

"Dean. Nice to see you again."

The voice chilled Dean to the bone, skin covered in goosebumps. "Hey, Alastair."

"Haven't seen you around here in awhile."

"Yeah, there's a reason." 

"And what's that?"

The chill turned to ice, Dean freezing up next to the sink as Alastair crept closer. A hand snaked around one of his shoulders, holding on tight and making memories flood into the front of his mind.

"Get off me."

"Oh, you said that last time, too."

_"Get the fuck off of me."_

"Ah, come on, Dean. I can't be the only one that felt something that time-"

_"One time!_ You promised to help me see and then you  _kept going_ and-"

"And what?" Alastair flipped Dean around, shoving his waist back against the sink. He stalked closer, leaning in. "I don't take kindly to people that spread rumors."

_"Fucking get away."_

Dean shoved the taller boy, Alastair stepping back easily. He grinned wickedly, pulling a hand back. "You really don't know when to pick your battles, do you, Dean?"

A hand connected with his stomach, but he managed to rise up again. Dean delivered his own punch to Alastair's head, knock him off-balance. The other boy growled, rushing at Dean and kicking one of his legs out. Dean fell flat on his back, crying out at the pain from his already-existing bruises and the new ones that he could already feel blooming across his skin. The other boy lowered to his knees, punching Dean  over and over again. He could feel blood running down his face, pain giving way to numbness. He clumsily tried to raise a hand and slap at Alastair again, the other boy only laughing as he continued to land blows.

Dean closed his eyes, ready to accept the eventual blackness.

But instead of blacking out, the weight was lifted off of him. He heard Alastair yelp and cry out, a snapping sound seeming impossibly loud in the room. Dean could hear more scuffling noises and blunt thuds that could only be punches, until he heard a final  _thump_. He cracked an eye open, seeing a different person hovering over him. Alastair was in a heap in the corner, one of his arms twisted around unnaturally. Dean could only make out a few features - blue eyes and dark hair, along with a halo seemingly floating around him from the bright light behind him.

"Who are you?" Dean mumbled, the words thick and difficult behind his split lips and bloody mouth.

"My name is Castiel."


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well i ended up not liking how this turned out but i felt like i needed to finish something so here ya go  
> (might add another chapter to get a better ending)

Dean was in a stranger's house. He woke up with a cool hand dabbing at his cheek and something warm resting next to his side, and from the soft snores he could hear, the warm thing next to him was a sleeping Sam. He could barely move his neck, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. Grunting, he tried to sit up, only to have the hand move from his cheek down to his chest, pressing him back into the mattress. 

"Rest."

The owner of the hand spoke, a rough voice that was vaguely familiar. Dean opened up his one good eye, room filled with blinding light. The light seemed to bring back the rest of his senses as well - he could smell blood, and the metal taste in his mouth had to be just that. His body ached ten times worse than it had before, almost every part of Dean's body sore or bruised. The softness of the mattress he had been sleeping on was a sharp contrast to the rest of what he was experiencing; a headache pierced through his mind, sharp daggers poking behind his eyes. The voice spoke again, this time softer than before.

"You're in the Novak household. I am Castiel. My brother has informed me that you are, in fact, Dean Winchester. Your brother is safe and uninjured. I wish I could say the same for you."

The hand returned to his cheek, dabbing again. "You've been out for approximately two hours. I believe that you should rest more. I'm not sure of the extent of your injuries yet, but you should probably visit a doctor at some point in the near future."

Dean chuckled at that, but the act made the pain in his chest flare up. He coughed, and Sam stirred beside him, sitting up fully. 

"Dean? Are you okay?"

"I don't believe he can talk right now, Sam. I'm not even sure he's completely conscious."  _Of course I'm conscious, moron._

"Oh. Okay. Castiel?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"What happened? And why... why are you helping us? You don't know us."

Castiel paused before he spoke again. "I believe that I'm fairly good with judging people, and from what I've seen, you and your brother are good people. Dean needed help."

"Thanks. Really, Castiel - thank you so much."

Dean felt a shift in weight on the bed, one side growing lighter. He heard a soft shuffling noise across the room, followed by a door creaking open. "It would have been cruel of me to let what was going on continue. Now, rest."

 

***

 

They stayed for a week until Dean's body healed, bruises fading and face looking less swollen. Dean mainly stayed in the guest bedroom, only leaving to shuffle across the hall to the bathroom. Sam slept in the room next door, visiting him every day and still managing to keep up with schoolwork. Gabriel checked in often, shoving food in his face and laughing whenever he saw Dean's battered cheeks and eyes.

"Got your ass handed to you, eh?"

"Fuck off."

Castiel visited twice. The first time was shortly after Dean had woken up and Sam had gone downstairs; the dark-haired boy had tended to his cuts and given him fresh ice, along with helping him to sit up and swallow painkillers. "We're a family of morticians, but it would not be an enjoyable experience for you to die," was the only thing he said to Dean that first time. The second visit was four days later, bringing him a tray of mushy foods and water. He hadn't spoken a single word to Dean - just walked in and out, as if he was trying to spend as little time as possible in the room. 

On the day Dean decided to get out of bed and actually move around downstairs, it was a Friday again. He guessed the time was around 2 o' clock, and he hobbled out of bed and down the grand staircase in the front of the giant Novak house. It wasn't a house - it was a mansion, all hardwood floors and white paint and expensive antiques. Dean had never felt more out of place than he did in that house.

He stumbled around on the main floor until he heard a small clattering noise, following by running water. _Someone doing dishes?_ He thought, following the noise and into an enormous kitchen. The space had to be as large as two master bedrooms combined - granite counter tops, dark cherry cabinets,  _two_ islands in the center. A figure was turned around, back facing Dean. He was doing dishes, carefully hand-washing expensive platters and softly humming something that sounded classical. Dean recognized the familiar shock of hair and the strong shoulders, and his breath caught in his throat when the other boy turned around. In the few times he'd seen Castiel, he had never really  _seen_ Castiel; Dean had never stopped to actually look at his features before.

Most of his features were sharp, except for the fullness in his lips and the strange way his hair looked slightly spiky but still _unbelievably_ soft. The blue in his eyes was almost electric, and Dean was  _overwhelmed_ by him, in a way. He'd tried to keep his attraction for guys buried far underneath the other layers of himself since the incident with Alastair last year, but Castiel? He was drudging up all of those things that had caused him the most pain - and Dean couldn't even give a fuck.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey. Where's Sam?"

Castiel put down the rag he'd been using to dry dishes, taking a few steps closer to Dean. "He's in school, as is Gabriel."

"Why aren't you?"

"I needed to stay in case you needed assisstance." 

Something about the phrase made Dean blush, the green-eyes boy coughing quietly and struggling to meet Castiel's eyes. "Oh. Right."

"Yes. Sit down, I can make you something to eat if you're-"

"Why'd you help?"

The question caught Castiel off-guard. "What?"

"You helped me. I was getting beaten to a pulp by a guy  _way_ bigger than you, and you helped. Why?"

Castiel cocked his head to the side, eyes squinting slightly. "Why wouldn't I?"

"People don't just go around saving other people. You watch out for yourself, and that's... that's what you do."

"You needed help, I provided it. I would have done the same for anyone else. I also happen to know what Alastair did to you in previous years, giving proof that he is, as Gabriel would say, 'a great big bag of dicks'."

Dean laughed at the sentence, Castiel giving him a small smile in return. "You're really something else, Cas."

"So I've been told. Go back upstairs, rest. You're still not at full strength." 

Dean stood, simply blinking at him for a few moments. Nothing like that had happened before, not ever. Castiel had turned back to the dishes, and he looked over his shoulder to see if he was gone. Finding the other boy still present, he pointed out to the hallway, expression concerned.

_Concern._

_For me?_

 

***

 

Dean and Sam tried to call John. They visited the house. They did whatever they could to find him - and they just couldn't. The house was empty, his phone had been left in the bedside table, he was  _gone._  

And the thing was, Dean was fine with that. Sure, they didn't really have a place to go, but for the time being, the Novaks were fine with them staying. Their dad had bolted a few years ago, apparently, and the mother seemed to work constantly, so it was just the Winchester boys and the few kids that still stayed in the house. Gabriel and Cas were both seniors like Dean, Michael, Uriel, Raph, and Anna were all in college, and Hannah was just in elementary school. Hannah seemed to spend most of her time with the nanny of the house anyway - an older woman named Naomi. Overall, Dean liked it.

The place was truly massive - he and Sam could have probably kept completely to themselves and never even  _seen_ any of the Novaks, if it wasn't for the almost constant conversations that Dean and Castiel kept having. It was bizarre - Dean had never really had friends before, but there he was, chatting constantly and laughing more than he had in years. They mainly talked about pop culture, or rather Castiel's lack of knowledge about pop culture. Dean spent most of his time explaining and re-watching things with Cas, and he felt happy.

Happy.

He hadn't used that word to describe his life in a long time, but with Cas? He was  _happy._ He didn't know why - there was some kind of  _connection_ between them, like he had known the other boy somehow before Castiel had saved him. Dean was wondering about that very feeling on a Thursday night, sitting on the balcony of Castiel's room. They did that a lot - sitting and staring at the stars, a blanket laid over the stones of the balcony to give a little more softness. Dean loved those nights the most because he could steal glances at Cas and see the moonlight dancing on his skin, or the way his eyes seemed to shine while he looked up at the skies.

 "Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Does it feel like you know me?"

Castiel turned to him on the blanket, shoulders touching as he scooted over slightly. "Know you? I believe so, yes."

"No, not like... I mean, did it feel like you knew me before? At all? Was I familiar?" Dean turned his head so that he could look at the other boy, attempting to ignore the heat rising up in his cheeks from the closeness of their faces. 

The boy smiled at him, sitting up and grinning at the sky. "I thought you wouldn't remember."

"Remember what?" Dean moved to match Castiel's position, shoulders bumping and hips touching slightly. Sparks tingled under Dean's skin at every point their bodies connected. 

"We used to be friends."

"What? When?"

"When we were little. Very, very little. We promised that we would grow up together and other things of that nature. Your father stopped allowing me to speak with you when he found you kissing me on the cheek," Castiel laughed softly, a sad look in his eyes. "You had to have been four or five at the oldest. You were the only child I ever met that didn't immediately find me strange or intimidating." 

"Oh."

"Yes."

Dean leaned back, wondering to try and continue talking or stop. Castiel decided for him.

"You and Sam are welcome here for however long you want. You are both two of the kindest people I know. It's only been a few months, and already you're both my closest friends. I care for the both of you more than I can say." He turned his head, looking Dean in the eye. He looked so genuine and  _open,_ expression almost loving. 

And it was directed at him. 

Dean smiled, leaning forward and embracing the other boy next to him. "You know what, Cas? You might just be my first real hero." Dean mumbled the words into Castiel's jacket, arms tight around his shoulders. Cas reached around him, holding his waist tightly, their bodies snugly fitting together.

"A hero? I've never been called that before."

"Well, you're one now."

Dean sat back, but when he pulled away, he couldn't  _fully_ pull away. Castiel was so warm and soft, and Dean liked the way Cas's back felt under his hands, and he liked the way Castiel was softly encircling his hips even more. 

"Hey, Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?" Their faces were a mere two inches apart, and Dean felt the realization of  _happiness_ hit him again. He also realized what could potentially make both of them feel even happier. 

Dean leaned forward, shutting his eyes and letting his lips gently connect with Castiel's. The boy's lips were slightly chapped, but warm compared to the chilly night air around them. Dean moved his lips slightly, dragging a hand up Castiel's back to run through his hair. It was just as soft as Dean thought it would be, and he took advantage of it being slightly long - he tugged the dark locks, Castiel gasping quietly. Dean let his tongue slip into Cas's now open lips, mapping out the blue-eyed boy's mouth. Cas moaned lightly, and Dean pulled him closer. He thought thought for a moment that Castiel was lighter than he had expected, his weight settling comfortably in Dean's lap. Castiel broke away from the kiss, leaning down to suckle on Dean's neck and  _oh god he's gonna leave hickeys that is hot oh shit_ was the only thing Dean could think about anymore. He nipped playfully, drifting down and sucking on Dean's collarbone. 

"Shit, Cas," Dean breathed, running a hand through the other boy's hair, other hand rubbing gentle circles on his back.

Castiel brought his lips to Dean's once more, this time taking less time to open his mouth and instead pushing Dean down onto the blanket as he crashed their lips together. He licked his way into Dean's mouth, pinning the green-eyes boy's hands above his head as he bit and sucked at Dean's lips. He pulled away after a minute, looking down at the fairly-turned-on house guest underneath him.  _  
_

"A hero?"

Dean smiled up at Cas, pulling his hands free and pulling Cas down into a softer kiss than before, something almost chaste.

"Yeah. Heroes are hard to find in real life, y'know?"

"I've only ever had one."

"Who?"

"You, Dean."

Dean laughed at that, both boys sitting up and hugging again.

"So we're just each other's heroes, huh? Pretty sappy."

"Says the one currently cuddling with me."

"What? We are not cuddling! We're sitting up, this is just hugging."

"Of course."

They both stood up after that, Cas insisting that they should probably join Sam and Gabriel for dinner at some point. Dean watched as Castiel stepped inside, throwing the blankets on the bed and walking out of the door. Heroes were hard to come by. Luckily, Dean had found one. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!  
> i don't write much other than fluff, so this is kind of an experiment. next chapter should be up tomorrow! i'll edit this again - sorry for any mistakes.  
> feedback and comments are appreciated~


End file.
